Luggage By Kroger: A True Crime Memoir Read Online Free PDF Page B

suit if you think
you'd wear it."

    "You ever been married?" I
asked.

    She tilted her head, batted her
eyes, and laughed as she replied, "You mean to anyone other than
George?"

    "Oh, yeah," I said almost
apologetically. I was surprised she'd even snapped on the omission.
It didn't seem he would count. "Forgot about him."

    "I sure can't call you as an expert
witness, can I? You might qualify as an expert on marriage, but I
can't have that attitude."

    "Well, besides George Tedesco.
Anybody else?"

    She chatted a bit about her first husband and
their time in Japan while he served in the Navy. Of course, she
omitted the part about taking a shot at him. I guess it might have
been confusing to discuss more than one wounded husband at a time.
She quickly turned the conversation to my situation.

    "What makes you think this is so
permanent?"

    "She's got a new man in her life.
That's why we're estranged."

    "So sad. You're the stooge on this
one?"

    "I came home from a trip and asked
my four-year-old daughter about her weekend. When she said, 'It was
terrible. Uncle Al was here all weekend,' I figured a separation
was in order."

    By this time Catherine had ordered
another scotch and was drinking it just as I provided the details.
My misery caused her to spit a mouthful on the floor as she laughed
in my face. I realized the image of the victimized cuckold really
wasn't earning the proper respect from her. She obviously had her
own code of acceptable conduct. So I shifted to my charming rogue
personae.

    "I got even. We had a chat, and I
went ahead and told her about my eight affairs."

    "How long were you
married?"

    "Four years."

    "You had eight affairs in four
years of marriage and confessed it? Your lawyer must love that. Why
in hell would you confess to eight affairs in four years of
marriage?"

    I shook my head, sipped some
scotch, and mumbled, "That was all I could remember."

    Another mouthful of scotch hit the
floor.

    "You know," I said, "it's kind of a
joke to say it, considering I've been married twice, but I'm really
not the marrying kind."

    Just then, one of my reporter pals
walked up and inserted himself into our conversation. Jim Strong
was destined to play a crucial role in the saga about to unfold. At
the time, we shared adjoining desks in the criminal courthouse
press room. While I wrote for a newspaper, Jim reported his stories
for a string of local radio stations. We often covered the same
trials and events, played bridge together on slow days, and had
started trading life stories over beers now and then. He lived
alone in a house in north Houston, and I was already thinking about
possibly renting a bedroom from him so I could have a cheap place
to live during the divorce. For the last couple of weeks, since
Uncle Al had arrived, I'd been sleeping for free on the living room
couch of a sympathetic editor who had warned his sympathy would
vanish by the end of the month.

    "I see you've met the belle of the
ball," said Strong, hooking a thumb in Catherine's direction. To
her, he introduced himself by saying, "Mehaffey, right? I'm
Strong."

    "Strong?" she asked, obviously a
little confused.

    "Jim Strong," he continued, adding
with a laugh, "It's my name." Introduction complete, Jim turned to
a new conversational assault on me, asking her: "Is Taylor making
you bored? I came to tell him he's late for the Herpes Help
meeting. But don't let that scare you away."

    "Let me guess," she said, ignoring
his inference that I might have Herpes, and she should find a new
date. "You're another one, aren't you?"

    "Another reporter?" Jim asked
providing clarification. "You have a nose for shit, don't you?
Smell us a mile away? But you're right. I do radio
reports."

    Suddenly Catherine stepped back and
looked at both of us. Then she said, "Say, wouldn't you guys like
to see James's house? Can I give you a tour?"

    "Can't wait," said
Strong.

    She turned then and led us around
the living area, into a side room, and up a